The Horde
by Marcus Greendil
Summary: A story based on a Dothraki boy who would change the course of history and challenge fate. His transition from a slave to being one of the most famous Khals in History. Oc x ?


There were two things the Dothraki hordes in Essos have in abundance. Grass and Horses. These two meager things are what the Dothraki holds closely to his heart. Grass for giving life to the horses of the Horde. Horses to give life to the Horde. The Horde to care for the Grass and migrate to let it grow. These concepts are the basis on which culture is bred life. They believe in the Great Stallion and they also believe in the other Gods like the Great Shepherd of the Lhazareen but they stand with the Great Stallion. They waged wars to find whose Gods are greater than whom but since they were fiercer and more violent than the Lhazareen, they almost always win.

Slavery was an important part of a khalasar. A khalasar without slaves will be considered a disappointment to their culture and can tarnish a khal's prestige in the society. Khals always raid villages, towns and small settlements if their khalasar was not large. The larger ones can sack cities or intimidate enough to garner tributes.

In this violent culture lives a boy named Temmo, named after the khal who fought during The Century of Blood. He was son to Khal Megho of a medium sized khalasar of 9000 Dothraki screamers. The khalasar was not very widely known and at the Khalar Vezhven, Khal Megho was always seated slightly at the further corner. Temmo was a very temperamental child, even as an infant. He always gets into fights with other children and was the sole victim of his half-siblings' abuse. Despite being bullied almost all his life, he never liked losing so he strove to be better in every way. His respect for his father is almost non existent due to the fact that he was seen as weak by the other khals and even in his own khalasar. They rarely raid any villages so they only trade at the markets at Vaes Dothrak. Khal Megho was a weak minded man who always succumbs to other's demand. The khalasar only followed him because of his brother, Shakho, who was a great warrior and charismatic man. He was a bloodrider to his brother and he never proved to be disloyal at all to his sibling.

Temmo always revered his uncle and strived to be someone like him someday. Due to the fact that Temmo was born by a slave who was raped by Megho, he was looked down by almost all of his father's people. He was an outcast yet only his uncle ever paid him attention and that made him the envy of his half-siblings.

 **Present day**

Their khalasar was stopped when the khal decided to rest for the night. Khal Megho instructed his bloodriders to order his servants to prepare his meal. Temmo as always, was at the rear of the horde along with his maternal grandmother.

"Why are we stopping?" He asked as he saw the entire horde stop from and are preparing to set up their tents. The day was hot as was the wind but the skin of the Dothraki sheltered them from the heat. His grandmother was the only surviving relative from his mother who died bringing him to life. His mother was a female from another khalasar, who were defeated from what his father told him. Looking back at his grandmother, he smiled when he saw her beginning to construct their worn shelter. He reminded himself to save something he can scavenge to get themselves a new tent but since the horde had not yet raided for some time, he worried he would not be able to do so.

"Let me do that. Just rest, you know someone your age is not suited to do this anymore!" He jokingly prodded at the old crone who laughed jovially but did as she was told. Temmo quickly erected some tall sticks that he dragged as he walked by a long chord of string made from dried grass. Once he dug five holes a foot deep in a square position with the fifth in the middle, he dipped the sticks in and buried them at the base. He then covered the top with a long woven cloth and tied the tips with the sticks and then laid out some attached pieces of animal skins which were beginning to tear at the middle and other places, under the makeshift tent. He stepped out and gestured for the old woman to go in.

As soon as she fell asleep, he sat down with a grunt. They had walked almost four miles on foot while the khal, his wives, his full blooded children, his bloodriders and every warrior rode on their horses. Temmo was now eleven years old but was tall for his age. He stood almost a head taller than his father's second oldest son. The long treks along the Dothraki Sea had built muscles in his legs and granted him more stamina. He had to drag their belongings behind him during every travel and some times, to carry his grandmother on his back whenever she was too exhausted to take another step. The result that gave his body was to broaden his shoulders and a well defined torso. He had to cut his hair as the khalasar had some unspoken law that until you are granted to be a warrior, the hair is to be cut to prevent pretension of being one.

As he sat in his shelter, he groaned when he saw his three older half brothers riding to him with cocky smiles on their horses. As soon as they were just a few paces away from the shelter, they stopped.

The oldest, Mogho, sneered in obvious distaste, "So, how was the walk, little sheep? Was it hard or…degrading considering you were not allowed to ride with us?" His brothers, Shama and Komorro, laughed at him, "Oh, I forgot you can't after all you don't have a horse of your own. You have nothing!" He mocked while the boys behind him mirrored their brother's actions.

Temmo sighed in despair, he knew he would be punished by the khal if he ever made any retaliation so he held his tongue. The older boys gradually stopped when they saw that it wasn't getting any outburst from the boy and Mogho immediately dismounted.

"Why are not saying anything? Are you scared? Are you?!" He shouted before snarling and pulled back a fist to hit him. Mogho was surprised when an iron grip locked on his arm and was jerked roughly to face the culprit. His threats died in his throat when he saw a tall long haired man with a scar on his left shoulder that ran to his elbow. He shivered in fear, "Shakho, wh-what are you doing here?"

The man narrowed his eyes, "What am I doing here?! What are you three doing here?! I thought I told you last time to leave him alone!" He growled at the three teens who almost soiled themselves in fear.

Mogho shook his head vigorously as he tried to make audible words but was cut off, "Go or I will beat your faces into the dirt." They wasted no time to mount their horses and rode to the front.

Temmo sighed in relief and looked at the bloodrider with gratitude, "Thank you. They still haven't stopped their bullying even though I was not even standing out."

The older man's softened a little and he sighed a bit exasperatedly, "It's not your fault, Temmo. However, you must bear with their mischief as you will be punished if you retaliate. Do you understand?"

Temmo nodded in acknowledgement. Shakho smiled and whistled loudly. A moment later, a massive horse galloped from the crowded area causing mayhem in its path. Shakho laughed heartily at the horse's nonchalance of people in its way. Temmo always liked the horse and he wondered how his uncle got it. It was larger than the normal horse that everyone had, even the Khal's yet Shakho would never tell its origins. It had more stamina and can run for half a day at top speed without much resting and the sheer power behind its huge stature was staggering.

The horse slowly trotted once it was near and circled Shakho affectionately while nuzzling his palm with its dark blotched spot on its forehead. The bloodrider mounted his steed and smiled at the boy, "Look alive, Temmo. One day, you will be better off than you are today."

Temmo smiled at the encouragement and nodded to indicate he understood. As the bloodrider rode off, he walked back to the tent and slept.

 **TimeSkip**

It has been two years and the horde suffered heavy losses due to desertions. Screamers ran off into the night, searching for other khalasars to join, or slaves running for it due to the decline in warriors. They were now numbered 5400 in capable warriors and 3000 slaves, give or take a few hundreds. Life has become more and more harder for Temmo as he is now being labelled as a pseudo-slave by the khal's family. His grandmother passed away a few months ago as he did his chores and when he returned, he found her sitting against the middle pole of the tent with her eyes wide open and her mouth open. He asked around but the slaves and everyone near the tent claimed they saw and heard nothing.

He investigated the circumstances of her death and found several clues that can prove it was foul play. The tent mat was ruffled as if more than one person was in the shelter. The second was that ground under the mat where her fingers lay were dug into, like she struggled and scratched the ground. His last observation was not reliable but he saw the three sons of the khal smirking mockingly almost every time he came in sight of them.

He was hurt by this of course, but his uncle's words were what kept him from marching over to their tent and ripping their bellies with something blunt. Was he destined for such unhappiness in this life? Why him? These thoughts scrambled in his mind as he walked at the end of the long line. His thoughts came to an end when he heard a couple of horse trotting to his side. He need not look up to know that the people were his half-brothers.

Mogho's horse came to a walk beside him the two others flanked him. Mogho looked at him with a searching gaze but immediately spoke when Temmo looked at him, "Your grandmother, I heard she died in your tent. Is it true?"

Temmo looked at the ground to hide a snarl and answered with a growl almost escaping his throat, "Yes it is."

Temmo kept his head downwards but heard Mogho sigh almost in satisfaction and he gritted his teeth hard. The older boy saw his victim was frustrated so he chalked it up some more, "At least the Great Stallion is merciful to take her at that age, I mean if she were to go on any longer, it won't be a surprise for us if she just wrung her own neck to free herself from her old, wrinkled, maggot infested body." He made the mistake of dismounting his horse when he said that.

No sooner he finished his sentence, he was suddenly gasping for air when he was kicked in the stomach. He knelt down, trying to alleviate the pain but when he looked up, he saw the leg coming straight for his head and closed his eyes, flinching. The blow never came and as he opened his eyes, he made out three forms wriggling on the ground even with the black dots he saw.

Temmo was hit in the jaw after he was about to punt Mogho's face upwards by Shama and he staggered back due to loss of balance while Komorro tackled him to the ground and started hitting him across the face. Temmo kept his guard up and timed his counter attack just as Komorro bent his fist back. As soon as the other boy raised his fist, he sat up quickly and bashed his head with Komorro's nose. The khal's son instantly crumpled to the ground screaming in agony with blood spurting from his nose and down his chest.

Shama walked forward but was suddenly greeted with a fist to the face. He staggered backwards to regain some balance but never could as a front kick to the chest thanks to Temmo was enough to force him to his back. Temmo roared in anger when he saw Mogho standing up while eyeing him with trepidation and he charged forward, missing the boy's smirk. He was about ten feet from Mogho when he was suddenly kicked in the chest hard and he tumbled backwards onto his back. He looked at the offending person and found one of the khal's bloodriders sitting between him and Mogho on his horse with his left leg still held out.

He stood up slowly and looked down as the bloodrider dismounted and went to check on the two siblings as they writhed on the ground; one holding a bleeding nose and the other grasping his chest. The bloodrider ordered several Screamers to bring them back to their mothers while handing Mogho's horse to him. The arrogant boy clutched his stomach but still made a cocky smirk to Temmo. As he rode away, Temmo cast a stoic look to the bloodrider who gazed at him with a spiteful look etched on his features.

"You know you are not supposed to do that."

Temmo never wavered, "I do."

"You know you must be punished."

"I do."

The bloodrider sneered but walked to his horse and mounted, "Let us go then. The khal will want to hear why his children were attacked by a low life like you."

Temmo did not argue and started to walk to the front with the bloodrider behind him. As he walked, the Screamers he passed by gave him scathing looks or pitying gazes but he did not give a fuck about it. He never cared what others may think as he knew in his heart he was not in the wrong. If the khal was to punish him, he will take it without begging or pleading.

It took almost half an hour to get to the front on foot and as soon as the khal's tent was in sight, he slowed down as the bloodrider dismounted and held him roughly by the arm. He allowed himself to be dragged before the khal where he was dropped on his knees unceremoniously. He kept his gaze down from the khal's and for a moment, out of the corner of his eyes he saw his two half sisters gazing from behind the curtains behind the khal's seat. The khal's wives sat on an ornately decorated mat beside him frostily glaring his way while the three bloodriders sat next to the entrance.

Khal Megho was a middle aged man of average stature. Years ago, he may have been more lean and buff but after years of no action whatsoever have thickened his body. He was highly looked down on due to the gleaming patch of baldness which was located on top of his head. Temmo had heard many khals comment on his hair and they said it will not be long until his long hair is lost. Nevertheless, he was a khal but Temmo has a feeling it will not be long before he was defeated by another khalasar but so far, Khal Megho has always been able to secure his position by having bloodriders duel between the khalasars. Due to the offending khal's honor being questioned, he almost always agreed to a duel. Since Megho's khalasar is small, the khal of the other khalasar will be looked down upon if he does not give them a fighting chance. So once Megho's conditions were heard, it was Shakho's and the other bloodrider's job to defeat the other bloodriders and save their khalasar from being annihilated. The fact they were still here is proof of the bloodriders' skills.

Temmo kept kneeling while the khal observed him silently. He saw Shakho on the other side of the tent who nodded encouragingly at him. A moment after, Khal Megho spoke out.

"Do you know why you are here, boy?"

Temmo almost growled in anger. It was like the fucking man did not even know him. However he calmed down and answered, "Yes, my khal.

M nodded, "And you know what was wrong, don't you?

A nod from Temmo answered him. Megho was about to speak again when one of his three wives screeched from her place, "This little fuck broke my son's nose. I want him flogged or better yet, beaten to an inch of his fucking miserable life!"

Megho turned his head to the woman and frowned, "Are you ordering me, woman?! Do not forget who's khal here! If you interrupt me one more time, I will do what you want to the boy to you!" He shouted menacingly at her and she backed down, visibly flinching from the verbal lashing.

The khal glanced at Temmo with something akin to pity. "For what was done, you must be punished but from what my brother had informed me, you almost never retaliate when they tease you, what warranted such a violent reaction from you?"

Temmo did not answer and kept his head down. The khal must have noticed he was uncomfortable with all the eyes so he demanded their leave. The bloodriders immediately obeyed while the wives clearly do not want to, mostly Jhiana; Shama's mother.

"My khal, you don't mean to let him lie his way out of his rightful punishment! He should be pu-"

"Out." The khal said calmly and she obeyed albeit with a scowl marring her features.

As she was out of the tent the khal immediately stood and reached for a container containing the fermented milk their kind have practiced for countless centuries. He took a wooden bowl from a table and offered it to Temmo who took it with a bit of surprise. Megho poured the liquid into the bowl and sat back in his seat.

"Sit."

Temmo eased himself onto his backside and waited his khal's next demands.

"Tell me what happened from your own view. I have questioned my three sons individually and I was surprised by how vastly different their stories went. So I would like you to narrate the story and the truth if you will."

Temmo then began to tell the khal everything that transpired between his sons and him. Megho did not allow any emotion to touch his face as Temmo continued in his narrative.

"… And that was it, my khal." Temmo finished his story and looked down again.

Megho grimaced as he tried to find the words to say but in the end he stood up and went out of the tent. Temmo stayed at his place but was suddenly aware of the two girls behind the curtain who looked at him with a sneer.

"You must have had a lot of time to think that story through. Just how low do you think my brothers are to think they would even waste their thoughts on a slave?" The older girl, Jhara, asked. She was the epitome of beauty in the Dothraki way. Her brown skin was flawless and her eyes were glistening pools of brown water. She held herself like any other daughter of a great warrior should but Temmo felt that the look of hatred and contempt on her greatly nullified those earlier observations.

Seeing Temmo stay silent, she fumed in anger and huffed in a fit of childish outburst then she left the tent from the back entrance with her sister in tow. Like her sister, she would grow up to be a real beauty.

It was only minutes later when the khal came back but was accompanied by Shakho and the other two bloodriders. His wives were also behind him and sat at their places once they entered.

Megho then announced to everyone, "I have heard everyone's side of the story and since I find my sons' reasoning vastly disappointing, I will side with Temmo….son of Megho."

His wives and two bloodriders' expressions were somewhat alike at this point. Shock, rage, confusion were some of the other emotions one could see on their faces. Shakho on the other hand was stoic but one can see delight in his eye as his nephew is addressed as his father's son.

Jhiana immediately stood up and with hateful eye, turned on the khal and frostily stated, "If you think that by addressing him as your son will allow him to be something more than a slave to us, you have never been wrong."

Megho looked unaffected at the least by the statement and nodded, "No, he won't be."

Jhiana and the other two looked smirked victoriously. No way was a low born illegitimate child of a slave was going to get away with hurting their sons.

"He will be now trained to be a Screamer even though he is young. Yes, he will not be accepted by you or any others but as he is of my blood, he will have at least something he's never had and that is recognition. Not as my son, but as a Screamer, a warrior." Megho turned to his brother. "You shall groom him to be a worthy Screamer of the Khalasar.

Shakho nodded with a fist clutched to his chest and turned to Temmo with a grin who looked too shocked to even reciprocate the gesture.

Jhiana coldly looked at the khal, stood and then went out with her fellow wives behind her. The look on Jhiana's face is disconcerting to say the least. Temmo felt something akin to fear as the three women walked out.

Megho looked at his two bloodriders who looked unsure of how to act now that Megho has taken his bastard's side but they bowed their heads in respect of their khal's wishes and then went out. The khal then nodded in satisfaction and addressed Temmo.

"Now that you are going beginning training, I would like you to have this," He took out an arakh too big for Temmo. It was a masterpiece. "It was our father's. I never had the opportunity to use it as my health is very bad. I have a heart disease. That is why my brother made me khal in his stead."

Temmo's eyes bulged widely but Megho nodded, "It is true. My health is very bad. When my father died, Shakho was supposed to lead as he was strong, but me…well I was sickly so death was inevitable if I became part of the Horde. The walks, the sun, that is why we stop so often, you see?" Temmo nodded. "So my brother made me khal by killing those who would seek to challenge my leadership. And now, he wants to be a teacher to you and since I have seen what you went through, it is a win for all of us."

He turned his eyes onto the arakh, "Now this blade, I will not use in the future but it is my gift to you. The handle is made of dragonbone. I do not know how my father came to get it but he always said that we were descendants of Temmo, your namesake. He made this blade so he passed it down so it will be a reminder of who he is by all Dothraki. The blade was hidden after his defeat so as to avoid any attempts to steal it. The blade is Valyrian steel only at the sharp edges while normal steel is used for the upper part since there were no more additional Valyrian steel to fully make it." He finished talking and handed the large blade to Temmo who took it numbly and bowed his head in gratitude without saying anything.

Shakho took it as his cue and patted Temmo on the shoulder. They both made their way out, leaving the khal to his thoughts.

The bloodrider observed the look of awe his nephew bestowed upon the blade. He knew it would not be long before the arakh will be used to slay his nephew's enemies and the thought brought him satisfaction. The fact that his nephew will now be able to take care of himself now in the society pleased him immensely. Grinning at the boy, he put an arm around the half naked boy.

"So do you like the gift? I have something for you too so you best not be too enamored with my brother's gift to be numb to mine."

Temmo silently shook his head and walked in silence the whole way.

They reached his campsite and stood there. There was a slight awkwardness lingering but Temmo paid no mind to it.

"Well, are you going to get your things or not? I have duties to attend to and you're not helping by standing there waiting for the moon to shine bright." Shakho reminded a bit hurriedly but in good humor.

"Why? Where are we going?"

The older man chuckled and crouched near the boy's ragged shelter, "Why, you are going to be under my personal care! The training for the next group of Screamers will be started at first light tomorrow. And you will need my guidance first if you want to survive."

"What do you mean?" Temmo was confused. Wasn't that a little biased? Getting pardoned by the khal first, then getting special treatment by the khalasar's most skilled warrior. That was just asking for trouble.

Shakho caught his nephew's cautious question and shook his head, "No. I am only going to guide you through riding a horse. Males from the age of five and up have already experienced the hardness of the saddle beneath their asses but you haven't. So you best hurry on and gather your things so we can move out.

The chance of leaving his status and becoming a warrior made Temmo feel warm in his stomach. As he wrapped his things and carried them away behind his uncle, he felt his life will be interesting from here on forward. But a question lingered in his head, ' _Does this mean I don't have to cut my hair anymore_?

XxX

 **That would conclude my first original fanfic story in GoT. The next chapter will be determined by the number and encouragement to continue. This is only something I wanted to write as it kept running around my head. The next chapter for The Shogun of Westeros will soon be updated.**

 **Marcus Greendil. Over and Out.**


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